


101

by Hth



Series: Numerology [3]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Body Image, Canon Queer Relationship, First Time, M/M, brief mention of eating disorder, episode related: Pregnancy Test
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hth/pseuds/Hth
Summary: Still, it's true that Patrick can have his shy side.  He likes to be a gentleman –  Mr. Order Whatever You Want I'm Paying and Mr. Here Let Me Fix That For You and Mr. No David Not In the Backseat I Want It to Be Special – so David can't entirely rely on Patrick's willingness to charge forward for the greater good.





	101

They've been dating for ten days, and they're getting very good at kissing.

Well, David won't be so bold as to say that he's very good at kissing – that's for other people to decide, although certainly the slightly glazed look in Patrick's eyes as he's stumbled with uncharacteristic lack of coordination around the store for the past week bodes well for David's final grade.

He will say – _from the rooftops_ , given half a chance – that Patrick is a _very_ good kisser. He uses his hands to pull David closer, to stroke his face and his ear as though David were an expensive car he's steering deftly around hairpin curves, but at the same time he leaves his mouth soft and warm, savoring the way David teases with his tongue just as much as the way David presses in for more.

Patrick is constantly in control, because of course he is, but he uses his power to invite David in. It's _seductive_ , is what it is. David's not sure that Patrick would appreciate that particular word, but whatever, he shouldn't be so damn seductive if he doesn't want David to think of him that way.

So when they fall to Stevie's bed, face to face, every inch of them buzzing with laughter and kisses and whiskey, David knows he's in good hands (literally and figuratively), and the temptation to just lie back and let Patrick _have his way with him_ is almost unbearable. Patrick can do what he wants – as far as David is concerned, if there's one night of their relationship when Patrick can do _whatever he wants_ , it's tonight, and he furthermore assumes that Patrick came armed with a list (literally and figuratively) of exactly what he wants.

This is Patrick, after all.

Still, it's true that Patrick can have his shy side. He likes to be a gentleman – Mr. Order Whatever You Want I'm Paying and Mr. Here Let Me Fix That For You and Mr. No David Not In the Backseat I Want It to Be Special – so David can't _entirely_ rely on Patrick's willingness to charge forward for the greater good. Sometimes the boy does need permission. David can do permission.

David tugs up Patrick's cashmere-blend sweater – it has to be Patrick's best sweater, it's so un-Patrick to splash out on genuine quality for his everyday wear, and David is endlessly charmed by how _special_ Patrick always wants things between them to be, how he misses absolutely no detail in his quest for romantic perfection – far enough to brush his fingers against the bare skin of Patrick's side. Patrick's leg twitches, trying to press up between David's legs, because Patrick's a gentleman, but he's not _dead_.

“I know we have a little bit of a ticking clock,” David says, “but this isn't about working through a to-do list, okay? I know you have a list-- “

“I don't have a list,” Patrick mumbles, leaning in toward David's lips again.

“--but anything we don't get to tonight, we'll get through. It'll happen, okay?”

“Okay,” Patrick says, not very much like he's listening, and then he shifts up and sucks David's earlobe into his mouth.

“Excuse me,” David says, “I'm trying to tell you something?”

“So tell me,” Patrick says, then licks up the shell of David's ear.

He's impossible. He's _delightful_. David can't stand how much he likes it when Patrick gets all _goal-oriented_. Still, though, David can't just give up now; it sets a bad precedent. He wraps an arm around Patrick's waist and uses the element of surprise to tilt the balance, not enough to put Patrick fully on his back, but enough to gain the high ground. Patrick blinks up into his face. “It wasn't a euphemism,” David says. “The point of the privacy is really so we can connect. However you want to do that. All I care about tonight is that you--” _Feel as perfect as you are. Know what you liking me means to me._ Ugghhhh, Patrick makes him so – what's the relationship equivalent of a sloppy drunk? It's embarrassing. It's euphoric. “That you have a good time,” David ends awkwardly, and inaccurately. “I mean...that we come away from it feeling, feeling closer. To each other.” Well, that's more awkward, but less inaccurate.

Patrick smiles and nods as though it's a reasonable thing to say, though. “I do,” he says breathlessly. “I feel– I like being close to you. Could we be – close but also more naked?”

He's heard Patrick swear before. He's heard Patrick talk dirty, which he does middlingly well. He's heard Patrick say _cock_ and _fuck_ and _make you_ _come_ and _don't stop_ , but somehow it's the word _naked_ coming from Patrick that sounds filthy and raw in a way that makes David's brain comes crashing up against it in a tangle of shattering glass and electricity. It's not just something Patrick is saying now, not just words in David's ear, a desperate and futile outlet for the sexual energy they can't figure out how to discharge. Now it's real.

This is real.

“Yeah,” David says hoarsely. “Yeah, of course we can, but – uh, you may have to let go of me for a second.”

Patrick glances down their entangled bodies, apparently just becoming aware of the way he's hooked an ankle over David's shin, the way he's clenched his fist around David's belt, thumb threaded through the belt loop. He mumbles something agreeable and begins to unwind himself from David, his movement slow and loose, his body sloppy-drunk exactly the way David feels – inside. (In his...heart? Is this a – heart-based – thing, that he's feeling? Okay, that's a tomorrow-morning question, or possibly a next-week question, or definitely a down-the-road-at-some-point question to consider.)

Without even bothering to sit up, Patrick arches his back and yanks his sweater up and whips it, along with the t-shirt underneath, off of him like it's _nothing_ , like it isn't almost certainly the nicest sweater he owns, like he isn't – exposed without it.

Well. It isn't as if Patrick has anything to be ashamed of.

David does sit up, because he's going to look like a seal performing tricks if he tries that move. He's more likely to get a fish than a blowjob. “So here's the deal I would like to offer you,” he says. Patrick's eyebrows go up curiously. “If, when I take off my clothes, you say one or two really nice things about me right off the bat, then I will do my best not to, uh, be self-deprecating or beg for more reassurance, because I realize that insecurity is not sexy, and you shouldn't have to deal with – all that.”

Patrick presses up on his elbow, frowning. “I – was really planning on saying _at least_ one nice thing about you,” he says. “Is this – is this a problem for you? Taking off your clothes?”

“No,” David says, “no, not exactly. I mean, I do that. I'm – fine with doing that.”

“You're _fine_ with doing that,” Patrick repeats flatly. “David, I've known you for a while, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what you look like. We've even been – in pretty intimate contact, this past couple of weeks. You know that-- I mean, of course I like you, I like you very much, but I also – know enough about your body to know that I like it, too. You know that, right?”

“Fine,” David says.

“Fine,” Patrick says again, sounding even less fine than before. “ _Fine?_ David, I'd like you to be at least a little bit excited about the idea that I'm going to be touching you.”

“I am excited!” he protests.

“No, you're _fine._ ”

David rolls his eyes. “Okay, you're blowing this all out of proportion. I was just – I'm excited, I want to get naked with you, everything is _fine_ – I'm just trying to make you aware, _without making a huge ongoing deal about it_ , that I don't really love everything my body has started to do as I get older, so it would be really nice of you to – be kind of – gently reassuring.”

For a minute it looks like Patrick will, for some godforsaken reason, continue to argue about this very simple request, but then he lies down on his back and gestures loosely with his arm. “Fine,” he says. “Go ahead, then. I'll say something nice.”

 _Now_ David's a little anxious, even though he wasn't until Patrick latched on and tried to worry the issue to death. Still, he's ready to move the evening forward, so while he's sitting up he goes ahead and takes off his sweater and belt and pants and socks, leaving on nothing but his snug date-night boxer briefs. He takes his time about it, because he's about half convinced that when he turns back around Patrick's going to make fun of him – not of how he looks, of course, but of how ridiculous it is that he worries about how he looks, because Patrick has – very ordinary standards, and David is aware that by ordinary standards, his body is...fine.

But obviously he has to turn back around at some point, so he does that. He even goes ahead and gives Patrick a little extra time to compose his positive commentary by leaning down over Patrick and kissing him. Patrick does earn extra credit by making a very _positive_ little noise into David's mouth as his hands stroke up David's back. Of course he does; Patrick is the very definition of an overachiever.

“Oh, my god,” Patrick mutters through kisses. “Oh, my _god_ , David.”

“Good start,” David says, gathering Patrick even closer to him.

Patrick breaks the kiss with a gasp, his hips stuttering against David's, the fingers of one hand buried in David's hair and his other hand wrapped around David's arm. He pushes closer and closer, leaving messy, desperate kisses down the side of David's neck. “Fuck, David,” he says, teeth nipping and scraping against David's skin and his collarbone. “You're fucking gorgeous, I want you so bad.”

“You've got me,” David says. “Just tell me what to do. Anything you want.”

Seriously, anything Patrick wants. David can't think of a single thing he'd hold back at this moment, not one thing.

He's felt like this before, but usually it's a sheet of ice floating on a vast and terrifying ocean. Because when the cracks start to appear in _I'll do anything you want_... well, it's a long way down, and it gets very fucking cold at the bottom.

That was before, though. Patrick's not-- That was before Patrick.

David, amazingly, doesn't feel afraid in the slightest. He can't even feel the chill. It's nothing but warm here, with Patrick's arms around him, Patrick's mouth nuzzling hard into the join of his neck.

“Let me look at you,” Patrick says – demands, really, and he's pushing David over onto his back with his hands and his chest without waiting for David to agree.

It's fine. David likes being on his back just fine, likes the way Patrick holds himself up over David and gazes down at him with possessive fire. He can stay like this for as long as Patrick can.

It's fine.

Patrick lifts one hand and strokes through the hair on David's chest, then travels up over the curve of his pectoral muscle and all the way over to his shoulder. “I don't want to badger you about this,” Patrick says, “but what the _hell_ did you think was going to be my problem with the way you look? I'm honestly really curious.”

“I didn't think you were going to have a problem,” he protests. It wasn't that, exactly. Patrick is a very accepting person; David knows that. “Look, like the day after I turned thirty, my metabolism went haywire and I gained twenty-eight pounds in a couple of months. It was stressful, okay? I'd just been through a big breakup, and suddenly I had to get rid of almost all my clothes and I was still going places where there were a lot of cameras, and I'm sure you wouldn't have said anything and maybe no one you know would have said anything, but _everyone I knew_ said something, either to my face or not so much, and it was the worst year of my life up to that point.”

“Okay,” Patrick says kindly, bending down to kiss David's shoulder while he experiments with rolling David's nipple between his fingertips. David's not particularly sensitive there, but he is finding the circular rhythm a little bit soothing. “That does sound really stressful. How long did it take you to lose the weight?”

David has to play the question back in his head a couple of times to understand it. “I didn't,” he finally says. “That's – just how I look now.”

Patrick raises his head slowly. His eyes meet David's, and they glint with something David has only seen slippery shadows of up to this point. He thinks it's anger. “You used to be thirty pounds thinner than this?”

It feels like a trick question, but David can't figure out the trick. “Yes?” he says. “If you don't believe me, you can probably Google all kinds of pictures if you try hard enough. I was younger, and I chain-smoked, and I was bulimic for like six months in 2005. There was – you know, a certain look at the time, and I – looked good.”

“I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you really fucking didn't,” Patrick says sharply. “You're a tall guy with gorgeous broad shoulders, and at thirty pounds lighter you probably looked like you had a goddamn _eating disorder_ , which you did.”

“Briefly,” David tries to stress, but it comes out sounding small.

The anger drains out of Patrick, and he looks familiar again, his eyes soft and indulgent and infatuated, the way David has started to always picture him in his mind. The way David is starting to crave seeing him. “David,” he croons, cupping David's jaw in his hand and giving David a sweet kiss. “David – sweetheart – I don't know if you're going to believe me, but you look so good the way you are now. You're all – filled out and solid and – and _masculine_ , and you look – like you're supposed to look. It's the right amount of weight for your frame; so you're not built like your sister or like that guy Jake or like whatever heroin-chic assholes you used to party with at Fashion Week – so what? That's – whatever if you like that kind of thing, but it's not any better than the way you look, it's just different.”

“I believe that you believe that,” David says. “So...thank you.”

Patrick sighs and tucks one arm as far under David as he can, resting against David's chest. “I get it. I do. I was – for my whole childhood, I was actually taller than all the other boys my age. And then when I was sixteen, I stopped growing, permanently, and everyone else kept on. It really bothered me for a long time, because it wasn't – how I saw myself. I was an athlete, and I was – I don't know, I thought of myself as – a leader? I'd always seen myself as big and strong and tall, and suddenly I didn't look to the world the way I expected to look to myself, and it was upsetting, honestly. No matter how much I knew that people are just as tall as they're gonna be, and it's genetics and it doesn't mean anything about what kind of person I am, it made me self-conscious for a long time. So if you were used to seeing yourself as – I dunno, this skinny, artsy socialite type, then – when your body changes, you feel like you aren't you anymore.”

“Well,” David says. “It was...another life. Another universe.”

“But it was your life,” Patrick says. “And things changed, and that's not easy. I'm sorry I came across so, um, judgmental just now. I just really like...the man you turned into. I like him a lot. I guess I'm a little defensive when it comes to him.”

“He likes you, too,” David says. “This got dark. Can we be sexy again?”

Patrick smiles and kisses him hotly. He seems to think he's going to stop after that, but David has other plans entirely, and he draws Patrick down against him for more.

A lot more. In fact, David's plan right now is to keep Patrick kissing him until Patrick begs for mercy, and/or offers David an upgrade.

David didn't show up with a list or anything, but he won't hear a word against his plan. His plan is flawless.

His plan...takes awhile. Who knew Patrick had this kind of patience? David's lips start to go numb and so does his left leg because of the way Patrick's weight is slightly off to the side, pressing a little too near David's femoral artery, and if David weren't so young and vibrant, that twinge in his lower back might be a little concerning. David carefully unfolds his right leg from around Patrick's hips and does his best to stretch that side of his body out surreptitiously. His knee isn't exactly loving life right now, either.

Patrick is an amazing kisser, a _life-changing_ kisser. David could die happy from this, but... Dying wasn't exactly the plan.

“Baby?” David says, twisting his mouth out from under Patrick's momentarily. Patrick has already leveled up to _sweetheart_ , so David's allowed a comparable endearment, right? That's the rule? “This is really nice....”

“Mmhm,” Patrick says, nuzzling against David's jaw.

“And I don't want to rush you, at all, but, um...if there is something else you want, I feel like we are in a very positive, connected place, and this would be a really great time to introduce that idea.”

“What idea?” Patrick says, sounding a little dazed. He licks his way up David's jawline toward his ear.

As gently as possible, David gets a grip on Patrick's face and lifts it away so they can look each other in the eye. “I was saying, we could think about crossing something else off your list?”

“I don't have a list,” Patrick says. David chuckles, and it makes Patrick frown. “I actually don't? Was I – was I supposed to?”

“No, I....” Patrick really sounds serious about this. “Not a literal list, necessarily.” Although David really did figure Patrick would make a literal list, probably on a literal yellow legal pad, which he seems to own dozens of, does Patrick buy those by the case? “I just assumed you'd have a sense of – you know. Things you were especially interested in.”

“No,” Patrick says. “Not really.”

That seems... _literally_ impossible. But also Patrick is pretty straightforward, especially when it comes to things he wants David to do for him. He makes a list of things he wants David to do _every single day_. He makes David cross them off. If David doesn't get to some of them, Patrick asks with brutally pointed kindness, _When do you think is a good target date to have that done?_ And then he writes that date down, in ink.

Patrick is not a person who wants things from David and doesn't mention it. Things get mentioned. Things get assigned target dates, in ink. David's not saying that he necessarily thought their sex life was going to work the same way, but he didn't – necessarily not think that, either.

“Hey,” David says, stroking up the back of Patrick's skull and scritching his scalp a little the way Patrick likes. “I know you're still getting used to all the, um, the verbalizing parts, and maybe this isn't the easiest thing for you, and I respect that. But I can't really do anything for you if you won't tell me what you want.”

Patrick blinks, then frowns. “Of course you can,” he says. “You can just.... I mean, why can't you just – show me what _you_ like? I thought you were the one who was going to.... You know. Show me this stuff.”

“Because I don't-- “ David huffs and tips his head back, staring at the cracks in Stevie's ceiling. “Because it doesn't matter what I want.”

“Why doesn't it matter? It matters to me.”

He's _impossible_ sometimes, David could just _strangle_ him. “Because I've already done everything I've ever wanted, and actually way more than that, and you have done precisely nothing you've ever wanted, so, you know, I'm trying to be a _good person_ and make this about someone other than me for a change, why are you making that so difficult?”

“Okay, don't talk to me like that,” Patrick says, struggling up to one arm, and then to a kneeling position next to David. David's leg appreciates the break, but the rest of him doesn't care for this trend. “I'm sorry if I'm not doing this the way you wanted me to--”

“Okay, that's not what I said,” David protests.

“Yeah, but it is. You had this idea in your head that I was just gonna come in here and know exactly what I want and do all the work for you--”

“Oh my god, that's _not_ what--”

“But I _can't_ , David, I'm sorry if this disappoints you, but--”

“Okay, no,” David says, struggling to sit up. “Just stop. Pause. You're putting words in my mouth, I'm not _disappointed_.” How the hell could this have gone off the rails so fast? They were _fine_ a minute ago – weren't they? It's possible that David doesn't actually know what fine looks like. How would he, really? “Patrick. Of course I'm not. I just... I know that you've waited a long time for this, and that you – you've been saying all along that you want it to be special, and I want to know how to make it special for you, because that – obviously means something, you wouldn't keep saying it if it didn't mean something to you. And I know how you are--”

Everything seemed to be going over well enough until that last bit. Patrick's eyes spark dangerously and he says in a tightly controlled voice, “Oh, you know how I am, huh? Because you know me so well.”

“I know you pretty well!” David says. “I mean, I'm sure there's – lots more I don't know yet, but I do know when you're not acting like yourself; we're not, like, _complete strangers_.”

“Yeah,” Patrick bites off, “I assume if we were, this would be moving along a lot faster,” and the bottom falls directly out of David's stomach. This isn't what fine feels like _at all_. Patrick's eyes widen slightly as if he's shocked at himself, and there's an apology already in his voice when he says, “David....” but David still just – needs a second. To process.

“I'm going to have another drink,” he says, feeling weirdly calm and removed as he climbs off the bed. “Do you want one?”

“No,” Patrick says quietly. “Thank you.”

They moved Stevie's whiskey to the top of her dresser, and David's not sure which glass was his, but he guesses they've swapped enough spit in the past hour that it doesn't really matter anymore, so he just picks one and pours himself two fingers. “I think,” he says carefully, not looking behind him, “you need to make up your mind. We're either locking this up or we're going to talk about it, so just. Which do you want?”

“I'm sorry,” Patrick says. “I know that sounded like I was judging you, but – I'm not. I don't.”

“Because this isn't something we can fix, you know?” David says. “Believe me, there's plenty about my life I'd change if I could do it all over again, but it doesn't work that way. I can't undo any of the stuff that isn't up to your standards – the partying, the drugs, the assholes at Fashion Week who were supposedly my friends, the meaningless sex. It all happened, and if you don't want to hear the details, that's great, I don't really want you to either. But it'll always be there whether we talk about it or not, and if it bothers you this much--”

“It doesn't,” Patrick says. “I knew about all that before I ever fell for you. It never made any difference to me. David-- come back, okay? Please.”

 _Fell for you._ David drinks the rest of the whiskey, but the words settle even more warmly in his stomach.

God, of course he's going back to bed. David's always been an easy mark for an earnest apology and a little slipped-in confession of affection. That's all it takes, and David likes the strangers best, because they think he's arrogant and callous. It's flattering, really, compared to the ones who claim to _like_ him – the married women and the closeted men, the social-climbing sycophants and the bored sociopaths – the ones who zero directly in on David because it's obvious how easy he is to manipulate with nothing more than a trail of breadcrumbs.

Not that...he thinks Patrick is any of that. David knows better, he knows _Patrick_ better.

Of course he's going back.

David walks back to the edge of the bed, and Patrick moves closer, still on his knees. “I'm sorry,” he says again. David believes him. “I was feeling – weak and intimidated and I – lashed out, like hurting you was somehow going to make me feel stronger. It was immature and stupid, and as soon as I saw your face-- I never want you to be hurt because of me. I won't do it again.”

“It's okay,” David says, touching Patrick's face lightly. “It's – the truth, even. Everything would be a lot less – complicated if I didn't care about you. Look, I – I'm sorry, too. I know you – want something you're not getting from me, and I'm sorry not getting it is making you feel bad. I am trying, I'm just not...as romantic, maybe, as you'd like me to be? Or something? I honestly don't even know what I'm doing wrong, but--”

“You're not,” Patrick says quickly.

“I _am_ , because I wanted this to be good for you, and it's not.”

Patrick sighs. “Will you.... Can we lie back down and talk about this?”

David nods. Patrick has to get off the bed so they can pull back the comforter and sheets, and David takes shameless advantage of that to catch Patrick by the waist and pull him close enough to unfasten his pants. He can feel Patrick's breath catch, but Patrick doesn't otherwise react, not to help, David or slow him down – not even when David takes the initiative to slide Patrick's boxers down his hips along with the pants. When he's finally naked, Patrick sighs a little, like it's a relief to have that over with, and he stands there patiently while David looks him over. Patrick's cock is hard but not all the way hard, and it's decent-sized but not particularly remarkable, and Patrick looks carefully neutral but more or less comfortable in his nudity, like someone who's managing this by telling himself it's no different from being in a locker room or a sauna. David gives him a little smile and holds the sheets back for him to climb in.

They don't have the mechanics of bed-sharing worked out yet, but David lies on his back and Patrick lies propped on an elbow and leaning on his hand with their legs overlapping, and it feels instantly _correct_. “We can just kiss a little more and then go to sleep,” David says, “but, uh – actually, I think that's not our best option. I think I'd really– I'd like it if I understood where you are right now. No pressure, you only have to talk to me if you want to, but....”

“No, I get it,” Patrick says. “You're right.”

It's good that they've reached that mature, reasonable agreement that talking is better than not talking. They still end up making out for a few minutes, though. Not instead of talking. Just...a warm-up.

“You're so good at this,” David murmurs against Patrick's lips. “There's no one in the world I expect you to compete with, but if there were? You'd be _very_ competitive.”

Patrick smiles. “I am very competitive.”

“I meant--”

“I know. I'm just saying, without making a huge ongoing deal about it, if you'd like to keep on bringing up how much better I am than all the others, you should feel free to do that.”

“Oh, okay, I'll remember that,” David says, grinning back at him.

“Ohhh,” Patrick says, his eyes widening slightly as if surprised by something David can't see or hear.

That's – unsettling. “What?” David says. “ _What?_ ”

“Nothing, nothing,” Patrick says, shaking the thought off with a little smirk and a kiss to the corner of David's mouth. “Just thought of a song.”

David rolls his eyes. “Well, unless there's going to be a dance break right now, can we please refocus?”

“Yes,” Patrick says, shifting into his serious-professional look. It's so cute. “Right.” He lowers down into the crook of David's arm, resting on David's shoulder with his fingertips stroking along David's ribs, and says, “I did want this to be special, but when I said that, I didn't mean that we had to do X, Y, or Z. I've been...obviously I've been...thinking a lot about how this might go, for – the past few months, you're right about that, but maybe not like you think I have. I'm from this planet, I basically understand the range of options that gay sex allows for, but it's not like.... I really haven't been thinking about it that way – like maybe you'll put your this here or I want you to touch my wherever. Stop it,” he says, although David's already _trying_ to snort back his laughter, he really is. He can feel Patrick's soft smile against his shoulder, though, so he's not in trouble. “I guess I've pictured all of it, or as much as I can think of, but it seemed stupid to let myself get really attached to any one idea of how this would go. I knew you were going to have preferences of your own, and I thought.... It just made sense to...wait and see. What you like.”

“Very rational,” David says. It's a good thing Patrick is such a good person, because sometimes the way he thinks is, like, _serial-killer_ logic, David swears.

“I guess in theory,” Patrick says. “It backfired, though.”

David strokes over Patrick's toned bicep where it rests just below David's sternum. “What do you mean, backfired?”

“It felt – weird,” Patrick says, so quietly that David has to double down and listen hard to catch it. “Being... or not, not being able to answer when you asked me – not knowing-- I'm a take-charge guy, David, I like to have _answers_ , I like making _decisions_ – making them and then carrying through on them.”

“I know you do,” David says. “So...you didn't do the reading ahead of time, so when I asked you questions you didn't know the answers, and that was a little much for you, on top of the general nervous-zingy first-time jitters, is that what you're saying?”

“No, it's not that. I mean, maybe partially that. But more than that. I felt.... God, I don't know what to call it, I just felt – bad. And it wasn't because I was failing a quiz. It was because _you_ were asking me for help, and I felt like I couldn't help you. Like I was failing _you_.” David makes a negative noise, disputing that, and Patrick says, “It doesn't matter if you saw it like that or not. David, I – the way I feel when you need something and I can do it for you – when I can get something for you, or handle something, or just – just be there for you – I can't explain it. I've never felt it before. I like being – being needed, in general. But when it's you.... It's like there's another dimension.”

“You're the sweetest man I've ever met,” David confesses, squeezing his shoulder.

Patrick huffs a laugh against David's chest. “I'm not,” he says. “It's _you_. David, you're not like anyone else; normal rules don't apply to you. You're stubborn and opinionated and I know – I know you were doing fine before me, you don't need me, but just the idea that you _could_ need me.... That maybe there are – certain ways you haven't been – I don't know, provided for or taken care of – that nobody's made you feel as special as you are.... The idea that I can step up and do those things for you, it's.... It doesn't make me feel sweet. It's _hot_. And I wish, you don't know how much I wish I could have just showed up here tonight and pulled your clothes off of you and said, _you don't have to do anything, I've got this, let me_....” Patrick breaks off with a catch in his breath, and that more than anything else, drives the point home for David. He can hear Patrick swallow before he says, “I know we can work up to things. I just – wanted tonight to be the night I came through for you, but. I guess I'm just. Not there yet.”

“Okay,” David says slowly. “Okay. This makes sense. Yeah, this – fits. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Patrick says weakly. “Because it doesn't really make that much sense to me.”

David kisses his hair and says, “I don't want to frighten you, but I think we've just uncovered another layer of your sexuality.” Patrick makes a pained groan, and David manages heroically not to laugh at him. “Oh my god, I am dating the cutest service top in the world,” David shamelessly brags to the ceiling. This is a _massive_ bounce-back for the quality of his night. _Massive_.

“I'm a cute what, now?” Patrick asks warily.

“You know what, doesn't matter,” David says. “We'll get into the vocab portion of the workbook later. Patrick – I want to try something. Will you try something with me?”

Patrick pushes back up on his elbow. He looks a little concerned, but not like he's reluctant to trust David, just anxious about the unknown. “Can you give me a little more than that?”

David can't stop grinning now. He physically cannot. “Something sexy. Something you'll like. We can stop whenever you want, but just-- You won't want to. It'll be good.”

“Okay,” Patrick says seriously, because _of course he does_. “I.... Yeah. I'll do whatever you want.”

“Okay,” David confirms. He leans up and gives Patrick a quick kiss. “I'm going to – do kind of a bit, here. It might seem weird at first, but – go with it? I think you'll warm up to it fast. And it's not a roleplay; I'm not going to say anything to you that isn't true, okay? You can trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Patrick says. David was aware, vaguely, that there were people who just – did that. Just gave trust. He's not sure he's ever met one in person before, but they are known to exist.

“Okay, I need a little warm-up,” David says, tugging Patrick over. “Kiss me.”

The warm-up warms David right up. Patrick drops right into that space he's carved out for himself over the past couple of weeks, by way of long, slow kisses that leave David purring on the cellular level. This time he can clearly feel the heat of Patrick's cock as Patrick stirs against David's body, and oh. Oh, David has plans for that. The plan is _flawless_.

“Patrick,” he says low in his throat, kissing the bolt of Patrick's jaw and then up behind his ear. “God, Patrick, this feels so good. Do you know how long it's been for me, baby? It's been _years_ – years since I had anyone who knew how to get me off _right_. Someone who took the time to learn my body and figure out what turns me on.” He can feel the intensity of Patrick's breathing in the way his back expands in bursts under David's hands. “Will you do that, Patrick? I'll show you how. I'll tell you everything I need, and then you'll do it for me, won't you? You'll make me come _hard_?”

The genius is that not a word of it is a lie. Not a word of it is anything other than exactly what David wants – and what it seems like maybe Patrick needs.

“David,” Patrick slurs, pressing a trembling kiss off-center to his mouth. “ _David_.”

“Tilt your head back,” David says. “You know how much I like to kiss your neck.” He plants his feet on the mattress, bending his knees to bracket Patrick's body – Patrick's naked body, and a rush of relief flows through David, because it's finally real, they're really doing this. He gets both hands full of Patrick's ass and pulls him closer, closer, until Patrick groans shakily and thrusts, the underside of his cock dragging along the bulge in David's date-night underwear. “You feel that?” David says against Patrick's warm, sweat-damp skin.

“Yes,” Patrick says vaguely. “What?”

David chuckles and lifts his hips up. “That. What do you feel?”

“You,” Patrick manages. He sounds shaky, almost giddy. He's riding high now, and part of David tells him he should bring the pace down a little, draw this out. The other, bigger part of him wants to claim Patrick _quickly, soon, now_. So no matter what, at least they'll have this. “Feels – big.”

“It is big,” David says. He doesn't make a fuss about his size – it's not always an asset, actually, attracting gawkers and fetishists, sometimes deterring people who might otherwise let him use it on them. But, well, he did say he wouldn't lie to Patrick. And he has a big cock, that's just a fact. “More to the point, it's hard, isn't it?” Patrick makes a small noise of agreement and grinds down against David again. “You're doing that,” David says into his ear. “You're turning me on, Patrick, I want you so much.”

“Want you, want you too,” Patrick says. “Want to make you feel good, David.”

“Oh, you are. You do.” David kicks the blankets away as much as he can, and they wind up mostly wrapped around his calf, but who gives a damn. He's not going anywhere, he just wants Patrick to be able to see better. Patrick pulls back, setting his hand against David's groin, his dilated eyes scanning thoroughly down David's torso, catching on his bulge. “I love the way you look at me,” David says, and it's not calculated this time. It's – method, or something. It's just true. He takes hold of Patrick's wrist and moves his hand slightly, so that Patrick's fingertips nestle at the top of David's treasure trail, which thanks to robust Sephardic genes, starts thick and dark right under his navel. Once upon a time, David used to wax obsessively, but who has time for that anymore? And he finds he kind of likes the pelt; he's discovered he can brush his hand very lightly over the filaments of hair and it feels fucking exquisite. Covering Patrick's hand with his own, David uses the subtlest of motions to guide Patrick in the same discovery.

Patrick stares at what their joined hands are doing for a minute, then looks up to David's face, checking in on him. David smiles and nods at him, but Patrick still asks, “Does this feel good?”

The rules of the game are taking shape around the skeleton of David's and Patrick's desires combined, and that realization is almost as physically powerful as the touches. “I love it,” David says intently. “I do this at home – by myself. Nobody....” Is this true? It is; David's sure it is. He just wanted to pause and double-check with himself before he said it, because he can't lie to Patrick. He promised not to. “Nobody else has ever touched me like this. Nobody – touches me like you do, Patrick. Touches me just to make me feel good.”

Patrick glances again toward David's groin, then up to his face. There's something sharp and bright in his eyes, something determined. Before David has half-formed the realization that Patrick is having an idea, Patrick has shoved himself down the mattress, in between David's legs, and opens his mouth to breathe hotly over the same patch of hair.

“Fuck,” David gasps, one hand grabbing the blanket and the other flailing randomly above his head to collide with the wall. “Oh, _fuck_.” He mostly succeeds in keeping his hips from coming off the bed and probably breaking Patrick's nose or something, but there's still some contact between his cock and Patrick's chin, a hard press of bone that isn't exactly pleasant, except that by this point his cock is so fucking desperate to just be touched already that David feels it as half pain and half caress. “Jesus, Patrick, suck me,” he gasps.

And they're well beyond the realm of quizzes and questions now, well, _well_ past Patrick wondering how to do that, or David being able to tell him. Patrick just grabs the waistband of his briefs and yanks them down, and there's more of that delicious discomfort as the elastic scrapes hard over his cock. David doesn't even know if the noise he's making is – _what_ that even is, but he doesn't care, nobody cares. There's just Patrick's hand around his shaft, and Patrick's mouth like a volcano around the rest – like an _active_ volcano, like fucking Vesuvius, and they'll put David's ashy remains in a museum or something, _isn't it amazing, it happened instantaneously and he was perfectly preserved_....

Patrick is _unjustly_ good at this, too. David guesses he's had blowjobs before – of course he's had blowjobs before – and Patrick being Patrick, he's cut right down to the fundamentals, nothing showy or complicated, just his tongue and his soft, hungry lips working directly around the head. David can deep-throat, of course (or he could, a million years ago, when he cared enough to make the effort), but he always thought that looked a lot better than it felt, and Patrick is not about flashy looks. Patrick is about mid-range denim and sensible loafers and getting the job _done_.

Maybe he's a little too much about getting the job done, in this case. “Patrick,” David manages to gasp out. Patrick doesn't give any indication that he can hear David at all. “Patrick – wait. Wait, I want--”

Those are the magic words: _I want_. All David has to do is want something, and Patrick has it, does it, gives it freely – because David wants it – because _Patrick_ wants to. Because there's no true separation between those things, at least not here, and the full force of that hits David while Patrick is looking up at him from between his legs, flushed and breathless and ready. It's...huge. This is _huge_.

All he has to do is ask. There have to be limits, obviously there are limits somewhere, but... it's still an extraordinary, unprecedented power. Being wanted is easy: just be rich and cute and agree to anyone's stupid ideas and compliment their ugly performance installation and, hey, if you can arrange it, have a big dick, that helps. Being wanted is easy. Having someone in your life who gives a fuck what _you_ want....

It's just a kink. David knows that. It's a quirk of Patrick's naturally friendly personality, layered in with the sexual awakening that Patrick's undergoing now that he's made up his mind to pry open the bars of his self-imposed cage. David doesn't want to – make too much out of it.

He doesn't want to get so used to it that losing it could break his heart. He cried for months over Sebastien Raine, and Sebastien didn't give a _shit_ about him. David shudders to even think how long it'll take him to put his life back together once he has a Patrick-shaped void in the middle of it to cope with.

“David?” Patrick says. “David, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” David says woodenly.

Patrick puts his hand on David's thigh, warm and solid and earnest. “We can stop whenever you want, too, you know,” he says.

“I don't want to stop,” David says.

“Okay. Were you – going to say something else? You wanted...?”

“Yes. Yeah.” David scrubs both hands through his hair. Holy shit, does he really want to go down the rabbit hole of his neurosis and low self-esteem right _now_? Like he doesn't have anything better to focus on? _Pull it together, Rose._ He manages a smile for Patrick and says, “We need my overnight bag for what I want. Would you grab it for me, baby?”

Patrick jumps off the bed for it like David has assigned him a quest to save the realm. David could almost laugh. He could almost cry. If he's not careful, he could probably fall in love.

Obviously Patrick doesn't have any questions about the condoms or the lube, but he does cock his head a little when David pulls out a pack of latex gloves. “Not everyone's manicure game is up to snuff,” David explains, and hilariously, it _still_ seems to take Patrick a minute to think it through.

“You don't have to do this for me,” Patrick says, turning a condom packet over and over in his hand. “You've – already done so much tonight.”

“You don't think it's for both of us?”

Patrick gives him a grateful little half-smile, but he still looks cautious when he says, “I feel like I'm not very likely to seriously injure you with a bad blowjob, but this can be a little....”

“You're not going to injure me,” David says. “I mean. If you don't want to--”

“I _want_ to,” Patrick says, and he really hits that verb in a way that sends a sexy chill down David's spine. “I just.... It's a lot of responsibility.”

David absolutely refuses himself permission to laugh. Jesus, though, come _on_. If he only let himself be fucked by people who _took responsibility_ , where would he be in life? “Patrick,” David says gently, drawing Patrick's attention up from the slow revolution of the condom between his fingers. “If you don't want to, that's fine. If you do want to... I won't let you fail. Okay?”

“Okay,” Patrick says. “You promise you won't let me hurt you?”

 _Not physically_ , he almost says. He stops himself at the last instant and says instead, “Absolutely not. I know my limits, I'll be okay. Trust me.”

“I do,” Patrick says. “Of course I do.”

David has never in his life given serious thought to the concept of being _trustworthy_ before. Suddenly, it's all he cares about.

Life post-Patrick, David realizes for the first time, is going to be fundamentally different from life before, in ways that he maybe can barely imagine yet. However long they last, whether they stay friends, whether or not one of them ends up crying – the effects of this thing they're doing, this dating-a-friend thing, this trusting-each-other thing – the effects of this are going to ripple out...indefinitely. Maybe for the rest of David's life.

It's more than David can focus on right now. That's a down-the-road-at-some-point issue if ever he's encountered one.

If David had to cobble together a human being, Frankenstein-style, and teach him how to do anal, that person would basically be Patrick. Patrick is generous and thoughtful and handsome, but more importantly, Patrick is a detail person; he listens intently and obeys instructions to the letter, takes correction beautifully and asks questions when he's uncertain. Patrick makes the whole process seem deceptively simple. “Just so you know,” David tells him, “you are getting an A- _plus_ in Professor Rose's Intro to Gay Sex.”

“I thought you said no roleplay?” Patrick says with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, look how fast he goes from _oh, but I don't want to hurt you, David_ to thinking he's a comedian,” David says to his loyal confidante, the ceiling.

“You seem fine,” Patrick says mildly, pressing a second fingertip against David's rim.

“I am fine,” David says. “I might – possibly – even be a little bit excited.”

There's some stop-and-go when it comes to actually taking a dick for the first time in quite some time, but the trick is not to get anxious about the completely normal slowing-and-stopping phases. David eases them both through it by picking up the hand Patrick has braced on David's chest and kissing the palm over and over, murmuring things like _you're doing so good, this feels so good_ and _I like it slow like this, I like to really feel you._ He can feel Patrick's other arm shaking a little where David's leg is hitched up against it, but Patrick holds them both steady. Of course he does.

It's so much work, and so much patience and handling the details and being trustworthy – how did David ever get this done at all, back when he and everyone he knew were careless assholes? Booze and weed and not giving a shit, he guesses. It's so much work this time, but it's so worth it when they're face-to-face and Patrick presses his forehead to David's cheek and says, “How is this? Good?” with such perfect, innocent sincerity.

Something goes through David like lightning, and it's pleasure and it's wistful longing and it's possessiveness and it's – joy? Is joy a thing, an actual thing? “It's so good,” he tells Patrick. “Oh my god, Patrick. Oh my _god_ , it's good.”

Patrick's voice cracks like splintering wood when he says, “I love your smile, you have the most beautiful smile.”

“You can – move now,” David says. “Anytime. Or now – now's good.”

At first everything is the slightly-wrong rhythm, but David just hangs on and coaxes Patrick through a few minutes of obvious frustration, whispering _it's okay, it's okay, just keep going, just give it a minute._

Then everything is steady and good and right, but so slow, and David holds his breath, wavering on the edge of cardiac arrest each time he can feel Patrick slide inside him, and he can't speak at all, but he nods hard enough to get whiplash when Patrick kisses his face and murmurs _hang on, hang on, we almost... I can, I've got...._

And then they get there, it happens, and David doesn't know what the fuck either of them are saying anymore and it doesn't matter, he only knows it's okay to let go. It's okay to lose his mind and half his bones and all sense of time, because he's okay, he's going to be fine. Patrick can handle everything from here.

God, can he _ever_.

Patrick even handles the clean-up – David thinks. He must, right? Someone does, and unless David had an out-of-body experience he can't remember, it wasn't him. David's pretty sure it's going to be a week before he can move, and Stevie's really going to be pissed at him, and probably so is Patrick, who gets pretty insistent on David being at the store every day that it's open.

“Okay,” Patrick teases when he gets back into bed next to David, stroking David's hair back from his forehead. “You didn't have a stroke, did you? Blink twice for no.”

“Mmm,” David says, nestling against the nearest source of warmth, which conveniently is Patrick. “How are you a real person? How are you good at _everything_ , that's not a real-person thing.”

Patrick smiles and kisses him lightly. “I really struggle with foreign languages. I have the opposite of a green thumb. I don't know how to use Photoshop, I should probably learn that at some point.”

“ _Je parle fran_ _ç_ _ais_ ,” David says sleepily.

“Yeah, I took three years of that in school,” Patrick says. “That's about how much I understand now.”

“Well, you're good in bed, and that's all that counts,” David assures him.

“Uh. I'm gonna go with _thank you_ ,” Patrick says dryly, but he can't hide how he glows a little under the compliment.

David stretches. His knee still hates him, but he could not give a single, solitary fuck. “We're doing that again,” David says. “Like, a lot.”

There's an odd silence before Patrick says, “That's good. I mean – I figured. But. Good to hear anyway.”

David turns over on his side and finds himself looking into Patrick's sweet, handsome face. He smiles sleepily and watches Patrick's smile mirror it. “Hey,” David says softly.

“Hey. I didn't say – I mean, pretty obvious, probably, but – I really liked it.”

It was pretty obvious, but David decides not to say that. “I'm glad,” he says. “You know I – think you're seven feet tall, right?”

Patrick blinks at him a minute, and then his smile deepens. “And you know I think you're a supermodel, David Rose,” he answers.

David's hand fumbles under the covers until one finger manages to hook around Patrick's pinky. Patrick lets his hand twist around, reaching for more of David's fingers, and both of them breathe in and out in time as their hands connect.

 

 

 


End file.
